


It began with fire and ice

by Siebenschlaefer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A short description of someone dying bloodily at the end, AU from end of fifth year, Gen, Kidnapped Harry Potter, Non-consensual body control, This was only meant as a writing exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siebenschlaefer/pseuds/Siebenschlaefer
Summary: Voldemort realized what Harry was while possessing him in the Ministry of Magic. What happened to Harry after being kidnapped by Voldemort?
Comments: 22
Kudos: 72





	1. It began with fire and ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Nothing in the Harry Potter universe belongs to me. 
> 
> **AN:** I am sorry that I was on hiatus so long. But this year certainly is a challenge and my mood to write was not only absent, I simply was not able to write. I tried, but no. This was in parts because of private matters, stress and angry moods because the job hunt didn't went as smoothly as I hoped and because as someone who is part of the LGBT community I also had problems separating creator from the creation. 
> 
> I finally succumbed to the demand to write this short little story, after it was stuck in my head for weeks now and it was freeing to finally be able to write again. I hope it continues :) 
> 
> This story will have five chapters, all but the last are written. I will upload them all in the next days. 
> 
> This is not beta'ed and therefore all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> **Have fun reading.**

It began with fire and ice.

It began with blood and darkness.

It changed with grief and love.

It ended with chaos and destruction.

It ended with a boy and a monster.

* * *

**It began with fire.**

The rage burning in him drove him forward. It let him forget how tired he was, how afraid he had been only a short while ago, afraid that none of his friends would make it out alive.

It would have been his fault.

None of that mattered. Not in the wake of the rage scorching his inside. Not in the wake of trying to catch up with Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius murderer.

Harry ran through the corridors of the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. One room blurred into the next. Bellatrix ahead of him, laughing manically. He caught up with her in the atrium and everything went downhill from there.

Moments later there was nothing but rage left. Rage so hot, so all consuming and so foreign, that Harry knew not everything came from him. Harry realized what was going on, had felt this already a few times throughout the last school year, but never like this. Never this hot, never so unstoppable.

He tried to think through the blazing fire of anger and fury, he knew that Voldemort had been there only moments before, had been battling with Dumbledore.

Then he had seemingly vanished, and Harry was burning from the inside.

He heard his own voice, with a strange undertone, talking to Dumbledore, who kneeled before him. But Harry couldn’t understand what was being said over the roaring in his ears.

He didn’t feel pain. Shouldn’t there be pain if he was burning alive?

There was no pain, only this all devouring fury.

Laughter, high pitched and horrible, cut through the blaze. Who was laughing? And why?

Then Harry realized it came out of his own mouth.

Words were spoken, some of them he could make out.

“Tom, don’t…”

“Did you hope I didn’t realize it, Dumbledore?” His own voice, but again with a hissing undertone.

Dumbledore’s face twisted into an expression Harry wished to never see again on the Headmaster. Horrified realization and then grief.

Then the flames inside him, went out and cold spread through him. Numbing, freezing cold.

* * *

**It began with ice.**

Harry felt his body move, like a puppet on its strings. A wall of ice came up between him and his body, emitting so much cold that it slowed down his thoughts, made it impossible to fight against the takeover of his body. 

“Sleep.” A hissing voice commanded, and Harry’s body obeyed.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was in a well-lit room. He couldn’t move his head or his eyes but in his field of vision he saw an armchair and a fireplace. The fire burning in the fireplace suggested that the room was warm, but still all Harry felt was ice - holding his body hostage.

A figure walked into his line of sight, tall, thin with snake-like slits instead of a nose, no hair, blood-red eyes. The face which had haunted Harry’s nightmares since the graveyard. He had the inkling he should react - _would_ react normally. But he couldn’t move or change the focus his eyes by will.

Voldemort was talking. Words that reached Harry’s ears, but his mind was slowed down due to the cold, his thoughts so muddled as if he had to think through cotton or snow, that he had problems comprehending them.

Something about how he could have been so blind? Had been deceived and lied to?

Horcruxes?

What a strange word.

In Harry’s periphery Voldemort stopped and reached out a long finger to trace the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Harry couldn’t feel the touch.

“Nobody will ever come near you again. Nobody will ever take you away. You are mine.”

It took Harry awhile to decipher what Voldemort had said and then to realize that the wizard had already left the room. Behind the wall of ice, Harry tried to remember the hot burning rage from before. But the cold spread and his thoughts succumbed to it.

Over the next weeks or months – Harry wasn’t too sure how much time passed in his frozen numbed stage - Voldemort made his body follow him to Death Eater meetings and sit in a chair beside him at meals and while he worked. Even in his stage he knew he was paraded around. Could still see the looks he got as he was standing behind Voldemort’s throne, still as the ice filling his body.

He couldn’t make eye contact with somebody, couldn’t focus on something out if his own will, couldn’t give a signal that he was still there. At times he was thankful that his mind had problems following what was happening around him. The torture, blood and gore he had to witness often washed over him, his mind only able to be faintly horrified. He was sure, that normally he would have been sick at what was happening during the Death Eater meetings.

Voldemort was cruel and twisted, not only to the victims – muggle and wizards alike – his followers brought before him, but also in his treatment of his own people.

Only once, had he ordered Harry to participate. Only to discover, that yes, he had full control over Harry’s body but not over his magic. It had simply refused to do anything. His wand, placed into his hand by Voldemort himself, hadn’t even warmed between his fingers. Voldemort hadn’t been pleased to find the limitations of his control and he had shown it. Harry didn’t remember much, as he had fallen unconscious while Voldemort made his displeasure known.

But with everything else and no control at all, Harry – or better, his body simply obeyed every other command.

Inside his own head, he tried to fight against the cold numbness of his own thoughts. With no results. He was completely, utterly under Voldemort’s control. And he couldn’t even feel the horror of this realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> First published: 6th of December 2020


	2. It began with blood and darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** So, the next part in my little writing exercise.
> 
> This is not beta'ed, and I am terrible sorry of all mistakes.

**It began with blood.**

Pain cut through the ice and numbness, waking Harry’s thoughts for the first time since… he wasn’t sure. He still couldn’t feel his body, which was disconcerting.

Where was the pain coming from?

The ice wall between himself and his body cracked, and Harry welcomed the pain which came through. To feel something, anything after being frozen and disconnected from his body for so long was welcoming, even if it hurt.

But there was something else… something warm.

There was a tiny spot of warmth.

Slowly Harry managed to move his head a little bit, straining against the icy control. Looking down, he realized that he was sitting in an armchair in front of a fire. It seemed he was alone.

The cracks in the icy wall widened. What had changed? What had happened to loosen the control from Voldemort? How long had he been frozen? Caged and imprisoned in his own body? Where was this warm coming from?

 _There_.

A small drop of red liquid on his hand, resting in his lap. It took him a moment to realize that it was blood. _His_ blood.

The red drop glittered on his pale skin like a ruby – creating a shocking contrast.

Another drop fell beside the first one, and another, this one slipping down the side of Harry’s hand. The way of the little drop of blood felt blazing hot against the ice under his skin. It cleared the rest of the numbing fog in his brain.

Another drop fell and Harry realized it came from his forehead.

His scar was the origin of the pain and blood. Something must have happened to not only distract Voldemort but also to make Harry’s scar bleed and hurt that much. Since Voldemort had him under his control, there had been no pain at all through their connection. And the wizard had been very careful to not let _anything_ through.

Harry welcomed it.

But the pain was already receding. The ice began to grow over the deep cracks in the wall. The cold spreading again.

NO, not again!

He didn’t want to freeze again, to not even be able to think normally.

Throwing himself mentally against the ice wall brought no results. Trying to gather his magic, neither.

In panic Harry’s gaze tarted around the room, stopping at the door to a cupboard.

* * *

**It began with darkness.**

He always had felt safe in the darkness of his cupboard. The Dursley’s seldom visited him there. Normally if he was quiet, he was forgotten, and Harry never had minded the darkness. He had hated the confined space, but never the darkness. Quiet and calm spaces made him feel safe. Had helped him to calm and clear his thoughts.

Could he use it? What had Snape said during their Occlumency lessons? _Clear your mind._ But Harry never had managed. Now he took a step back in his mind, brought out the image of his cupboard, the details clear before his closed eyes.

Taking a breath, he opened the door and stepped inside, deliberately separating himself from his body.

The door closed behind him, leaving him in darkness. Sitting down on the cot, Harry felt the effect immediately. His thoughts stilled, but didn’t freeze, they calmed down, soothed by the darkness and quiet.

It felt real - was real in his mind - made real by thousands of memories he had of the cupboard.

He felt the moment the pain from his scar disappeared completely, felt the moment the little control he had gained over his body was taken from him again. He felt the cold trying to come through the cupboard door. A chill creeping into the space, but nothing more. He still could think, his thoughts were free.

And when he opened the door and looked outside, he could see clearly out of his own eyes, could hear the roaring of the fire and – more important – could _focus_ his gaze. He couldn’t move, but this tiny bit of control of one little body function, gave him hope.

When Voldemort entered the room to check on him, he was the perfect little puppet again – on the surface. But in the safety of his own mind – of his cupboard – Harry began to plan. And for the first time something else besides freezing numbness filled him – determination.

The next time Voldemort made him stand behind his throne, Harry let his eyes focus and met the gaze from the only person he wasn’t hundred percent sure of his complete loyalty to Voldemort. Someone he always had said he thought was a Death Eater, but Dumbledore believed and trusted in.

Someone who had been attending every single one of these meetings since Harry had been made into a trophy. The black eyes widened minuscule as Harry’s gaze met Severus Snape’s one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part coming tomorrow. 
> 
> First published: 7th of December 2020


	3. It changed with grief and love

**It changed with grief.**

Ever since he had found safety in his cupboard, Harry tried to find a way to break the ice. So far without results. But the look in Snape’s eyes in the last meetings, made Harry think about his options. Harry had allowed himself to meet Snape’s gaze again and had received one filled with determination and resolve back; and understanding.

Harry was sure Snape had told Dumbledore, and that they would be working on finding him, getting him out. But Harry could sit by, he _had_ to do something by himself. What good would it do if they rescued him and Voldemort still had control over him?

He needed a method to break the wall, to wake his body up.

No… not break.

Voldemort would feel and realize what happened instantly, of that Harry was certain.

_Melt_.

He needed to melt the wall of ice slowly, but surely. But how?

And he needed to protect himself better. A cupboard door wasn’t a fortress. He had been lucky that Voldemort was arrogant enough to think his control over Harry was absolute. He needed something to hide behind, to hide what he was doing. Something strong and defensive, indestructible.

So, Harry started to build a wall, similar to the stone walls of Hogwarts, another symbol of safety for him. But he needed more. A simple mental wall wouldn’t hold against Voldemort and wouldn’t help against the ice.

And then he remembered what Dumbledore once told him. That his mother’s love had saved him as a baby and that Voldemort had underestimated love again and again.

Harry thought of his Patronus. If strong positive feelings could drive away the foulest magical creatures Harry knew of, why shouldn’t they also have an effect on the evilest and foulest wizard?

Thinking about his Patronus made him think of Sirius.

Sirius who had died because of him. Sirius, who had loved him, had been one of the last links to his parents. Sirius who had fought for him. His laughter and mischievous grins. The sparkle in his eyes when he talked about his time with Harry’s parents and Remus. Sirius who had believed in him, who had been protective of him. Sirius, who had become family for him.

Grief filled him, overwhelming him. Grief so deep and all-consuming that it nearly numbed him. There wasn’t any space left for other emotions in Harry. He hardly could think of positive feelings. But he needed them, needed something to reinforce his walls. Grief wouldn’t help him, did it?

But what was grief other than an expression of the love we lost?

Despite the urge to hide in his cupboard and let the darkness claim him, despite wishing to be numb so that he wouldn’t have to feel this lost anymore, Harry steeled himself. Thought of Sirius again. Sirius who would have wanted him to be free, to live and love and feel.

So, Harry let himself feel.

And channelled the grief into his stone walls, saturating them, making them hum and vibrate with grief. It wasn’t a positive feeling, but grief had its roots in love. And the warmth of that knowledge, that Harry had been loved so much by a person and had loved so much that the loss of that loved one brought out grief so deep he didn’t know where it ended, warmed the stones of his mind walls.

Droplets of water run down the icy walls of his mental prison. Voldemort’s ice-walls began to melt, and the warmth of his feelings started to seep into his body, waking it.

And without him realizing it, Harry’s right hand twitched.

* * *

**It changed with love.**

Slowly but surely the ice-walls got thinner and with it, Harry got partial control over his body back. And as far as he could say, Voldemort didn’t notice. To maintain his defensive walls and strengthening them, Harry let himself feel every emotion that wanted to be felt.

It helped to come to terms with his grief and his role in Sirius death. He had played a role, he wouldn’t deny it, but Sirius had been an adult. An adult who wanted to rescue his godson. An adult who should have known better as to leave the safehouse. Harry certainly couldn’t have prevented it. Perhaps not even Dumbledore could have convinced Sirius from staying at Grimmauld Place.

Sirius love for Harry, but also his love for adventure and his frustration of being left behind and not being able to contribute to the war efforts had driven him to come to the Ministry.

Harry fed his feelings about this realization into his walls, too, strengthening them more. He was sure that he could break through his icy prison walls completely now, seizing control if he needed to, whenever he wanted. But he waited, waited and trusted in Dumbledore and – ironically – in Snape.

The Potion’s master had made eye contact every single time Harry had seen him. Only shortly, not even for a second, but deliberately. The relieved flicker in Snape’s eyes when Harry focused on him, made him realize the man was doing it to confirm Harry still had control. And Harry knew now that his time to take action, to take complete control again, was drawing nearer.

“Tomorrow, 11 o’clock. Be prepared.” Snape had whispered to him, as he had walked past Harry, holding the door open for everyone to enter room before he had to stand behind the throne as usual, ordered by Voldemort.

Harry was prepared. The ice-wall of his prison were so thin they looked like glass and warmth had seeped into every part of his body again. He knew he only needed a second to bring up enough emotional force to not only break the last bit of the ice-walls, but also to attack the link with Voldemort.

He thought of his dad, trying to fight Voldemort without his wand to give Harry and his mum time.

He thought of his mum pleading to Voldemort to kill her instead of Harry.

He thought of Sirius, loving him so much that he came to rescue him.

He thought of Ron and Hermione, fiercely loyal, protective and brilliant.

He thought of the Weasleys and their warm home filled with love.

He thought of Mrs Weasley’s hugs and Mr Weasley’s sparkling eyes when they talked about Muggle stuff.

He thought of his Gryffindor schoolmates and the warmth of the tower.

He thought of his friends, following him into the Ministry.

He thought of the twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes.

And he thought of how much he loved his friends, his chosen family, Sirius, Dumbledore, his parents, even if he never knew them.

Harry let him feel all of that, gathered it up, till he was sure he would explode. And then threw against his icy prison walls.

They didn’t stand a chance. The ice didn’t melt, it just disappeared. He could feel the shock from Voldemort’s side of the link they shared, and Harry used it as a compass and channelled everything he had down that link.

His scar exploded in pain and warm blood dripped down his face.

He welcomed the feeling and didn’t stop, more and more emotions were poured down the link, till the backslash of the agony from Voldemort made Harry’s eyes water.

But he needed more.

_“Harry, you are so loved. Mama loves you. Dada loves you._ ”

It felt like something was ripped out of him and the link imploded, collapsed into itself, destroyed by the one emotion Voldemort and everything that came from him, couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t fight against and had no chance against. Love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** the cursive sentences at the end is a direct quote from HP. You hopefully all know from whom :)
> 
> As before, this is not beta'ed and therefore all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> First published: 8th of December


	4. It ended with chaos and destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** So nearly at the end of this little story. The chapters seemed to get longer XD

**It ended with chaos.**

The next thing Harry was aware of, was pain. His body screamed in agony. It felt like he had been ripped apart. Every breath expanding his ribcage burned. His heartbeat was agonizing loud in his own ears and erratic. His head hurt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Even if his magic, pulsing weakly inside of him as if he had drained himself with whatever he had done, felt like it could hurt.

What _had_ he done?

It took him several moments to remember. The rage, being imprisoned in his own body, the destruction of the link. He opened his eyes, only to shut them immediately, as light hit his retinas and cut painfully directly into his head. Breathing heavily Harry took his time to get himself under control.

This was only pain. And pain, was good. Pain meant that he _could_ feel his own body.

And if he interpreted the backslash he had gotten shortly before the link had been severed, it could mean – should mean – that Voldemort was in at least as much agony as Harry himself. Hopefully more.

Opening his eyes again, slowly this time to let them adjust, Harry looked around. He was still in the room Voldemort had always ordered him to stay when he wasn’t paraded around. It was a nice enough room with a huge fluffy looking bed and some armchairs in front of a fireplace. Harry never had slept in the bed, as Voldemort never had ordered it and for the last weeks – months? – his body had only done what had been ordered.

Groaning, his own voice loud in his ears, Harry carefully extracted himself from the armchair he was sitting in, standing on shaking legs.

Carefully, one step at a time Harry walked to the door. It felt so strange to feel his body answer to his will to move. It felt a little like he had to learn to walk again, like he was unfamiliar with his own legs. But each step made it better, with each step he felt a little stronger, a little surer of the movements of his body. It still hurt; every step was pure agony. But also pure bliss.

It was _his_ will to take that next step, _he_ was in control.

Harry tried the doorhandle and was surprised to find the door opened easily. Nobody was in sight, so Harry slowly left his room and hobbled down the corridor, groaning as he found himself at the top of a long staircase. Taking one careful step after another he made his way down.

Halfway down he heard voices, shouts, crashes and people running around. Whatever Dumbledore had planned, seemed to have been put in motion. Or the Death Eaters were having a party.

What greeted him as he reached the end of the staircase, walked slowly down another corridor, and glanced into, what he had dubbed the throne room, was chaos. Spells and curses were flying around, broken chairs and china everywhere, one or two curtains were on fire. People were screaming, shouting and in one case – Bellatrix – laughing manically.

It seemed Voldemort had gathered his inner circle for a meeting when Harry had severed the link. His tall, thin form sat slumped in his chair. His head lolling aside, the red eyes open but glassy, unfocused. His mouth hanging open. Was he drooling?

Later, Harry would recall this image and laugh.

A few Death Eaters sat frozen in their chairs around the big table. Harry wasn’t sure if out of shock or if they had been hit by a stunner. Others were ducking behind chairs and Harry was sure he even saw some who had tried to crawl under the table, but where lying now unmoving on the floor.

Some were fighting against people Harry was _very_ happy to see. Wizards and witches were running around, casting curses, ducking and rolling away. He saw Remus fighting back to back with a Tonks, her bubble-gum coloured hair a flash of colour. He was sure he got a glimpse of more than one person with red hair. Somewhere he heard the harsh growly voice of Moody shouting curses – magical and non-magical ones.

Fireworks zoomed through the air.

Harry ducked under a stray spell. Searching for cover – and a way to reach the Order members, he glanced around and froze for a second.

Snape and Malfoy - the older one - were fighting back to back, against the other Death Eaters. And was that Malfoy - the younger one - and his mother firing spells at Death Eaters from under the table? And was that Dobby appearing and disappearing out of thin air, wielding a large kitchen knife, stabbing at every body part he could reach?

What the hell? It was utter madness.

Someone grabbed his arm, and as he was spun around, he came face to face with one of the Lestrange brothers.

“What are you doing here? Get back to your room.”

Harry snarled, kicked Lestrange against his knee and let his body sack as the grip on his arm loosened, his arm coming free. He rolled away and scrambled on all fours to get under the table, it was the nearest cover and his body told him in unmistakably words that he wouldn’t move that much anymore. He came face to face with Draco Malfoy, who’s eyes widened comically, before he gestured Harry to hide behind him and his mother.

She only gave him a fierce glance before concentrating on taking out enemies again. Harry wasn’t sure who he should find more terrifying and awesome, Mrs Malfoy or Mrs Weasley, who battled Bellatrix only a few feet away.

The chaos seemed to crescendo and then stop suddenly, as Harry saw brightly coloured robes enter the room. Dumbledore.

* * *

**It ended with destruction.**

Harry remembered glimpses on how they escaped. He remembered being pulled between Remus and Tonks. He remembered flashes of grim determined faces. He remembered the glances and the short smiles when his gaze met with one of the others.

He remembered the roar – more magical than audible one – as Voldemort came back to himself. He would never forget the look in those blood-red eyes as they found Harry’s green ones, before he was pulled away, into safety. Possessiveness, determination and then desperation, as he realized that his magic couldn’t reach Harry anymore. Then hate and fury underlaid with fear.

Especially when Dumbledore stepped between them and raised his wand.

Next, he found himself being gently pushed into a chair in a familiar dreadful looking kitchen, with a lot of people settling around the large table. They all looked at him and if he interpreted their expression right, he looked as dreadful as he felt. His body still hurt, and he was tired, so damn tired. His vision blurred a little at the edges and when he looked down, he saw that his hands were shaking.

Warm hands folded his own around a warm cup of tea and he found Mrs Weasley standing beside him with tears in her eyes but a relieved smile in her face.

Dumbledore settled across from Harry, Snape beside him and started talking. Harry starred into his tea, only listening to half of what was told around him. Who had fought who, who had been hurt and so on. He was just so exhausted. He wanted to sleep for a long long time.

Apparently, they hadn’t been sure if he hadn’t been corrupted by Voldemort in the beginning, as it had appeared as if he obeyed him willingly. Till Snape and, strange enough, Draco Malfoy – who had been forced to attend these meetings, too – had brought back the information, that somehow Voldemort controlled his body.

Harry wasn’t sure what he should think about the fact that Draco Malfoy of all things, had been the first who had been suspicious of Harry’s state. And about that the Malfoys had switched side when Voldemort had defiled their Manor and had punished them horribly after the Department of Mystery debacle.

He was startled out of his already half-asleep state by Dumbledore calling his name. Blinking tiredly at his Headmaster Harry opened his mouth to tell what had happened since he had been kidnapped, but only a harsh rasp came out. He took a sip of tea.

“How long –.” His voice was strained.

“It’s the Easter holidays right now.” A familiar voice came from behind him. Harry’s head snapped around and there in the doorway stood Ron and Hermione. Before he even knew what happened they both had their arms around him and something warm and wet run down his cheeks. It felt so good. For the first time Harry had the feeling that he was finally home again.

Then it registered what Ron had said. It was Easter, and he had been kidnapped at the end of his fifth school year. A few months short a year. A year without human contact, without remembering most of it. A shudder ran through him.

“Harry, we need to know what happened.” Dumbledore’s voice cut through his shock.

From the safety of his friends arms Harry began to speak, with pauses in between to give his voice a break. He told what he remembered, ignoring the horrified gasp and treasured the tightening of Ron’s and Hermione’s hold of him.

After he was finished, questions were flying, but thankfully not directed at him and he closed his eyes and leaned against Ron’s warm and comforting body. How he had missed the simple present of another human being. He listened to the theories how Voldemort could have controlled Harry’s body and he remembered what Voldemort had often called him.

“Sir, what is a Horcrux?”

The silent following his question was profound and he opened his eyes to look at Dumbledore, who looked stricken at him. The Headmaster sighed and seemed to steel himself. The tale he told then was horrifying.

Who would even think about ripping his own soul apart?

But it explained the link and even how Harry could have destroyed it, ripped it out of himself. The tiny, mutilated part of Voldemort’s soul in Harry, couldn’t withstand the onslaught of emotions from a whole and pure – Dumbledore’s words – soul such as Harry’s. How appropriate, the destruction of one of the foulest magical things by pure emotions, by love.

Harry listened how Dumbledore explained further that the diary in his second year had been one, at which point Mr Malfoy made a horrible, wounded sound from the back of his throat.

Closing his eyes again, letting him feel the lingering pain in his body, the warm coming from Ron and Hermione by his side, he listened how Dumbledore had found out that Voldemort attempted seven Horcruxes and that he had destroyed two more. With the one in Harry that made four destroyed.

“Oh. That could have been why he lost control for a short time and made my scar hurt and bleed. Or it was a backslash from the Horcruxes themselves.” His voice was only slightly audible, but Dumbledore heard him, nevertheless, and agreed with him. The rest of the meeting Harry didn’t really listen, but it seemed plans were made to find the last Horcruxes and destroy them.

The next time he opened his eyes, his was in a comfortable bed, several blankets on top of him and Remus sitting at his bedside, who told him everything he had missed. Madam Pomfrey had seen to him, and beside being too thin, apparently Voldemort had sometimes forgotten to order his body to eat, and dangerously sleep deprived, which Voldemort hat also forgotten and therefore - even if Harry had let his mind rest - his body hadn’t gotten the rest it needed, he didn’t need medical attention. Just rest and sleep and enough food.

So Harry rested and listened to his visitors telling him that the Horcrux hunt had been successful, funny enough there had been one here in Grimmauld Place, hidden by Kreacher who had presented it to them as he learned that they wanted to destroy it. Since then the old house-elf had been more polite to most of them, even if he especially adored the Malfoys.

One day Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Draco – after hours of talking with him Harry couldn’t call him Malfoy anymore – had to go back to school. Harry was still too exhausted, to do more than eat, sleep and walk around a little bit. But he got himself out of bed and demanded to be a witness to the destruction of the Horcruxes, yes, plural. Mrs Malfoy had found one in the vault of her sister.

Dumbledore, Snape, Remus, Mr and Mrs Malfoy, Moody and Harry came together in one the hidden gardens of Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore brought with him the sword of Gryffindor and Harry looked with grim satisfaction as he brought it down on a golden cup with the Hufflepuff emblem on it.

The scream coming from it and the dark oppressive magical force were nearly overwhelming. The moment the basilisk-blood enforced sword cut through it, a dark cloud rose from it and pushed everyone back a few steps, before it exploded and took a huge part of the earth with it. When the smoke cleared, only the two halves of the cup were left in a deep crater.

Harry was more than happy to realize, that his scar didn’t even itched.

The destruction of the second Horcrux, a locket which had obviously belonged to Salazar Slytherin, went in a similar fashion. What was left after the destruction of these two objects tainted by the darkest magic Harry had ever encountered, was the smell of ozone, a huge crater and seven dishevelled looking witnesses. All with a grim satisfied smile on their faces. Determination shinnying brightly in their eyes as they surveyed the destruction around them.

Dumbledore was sure that the last one, was Voldemort’s snake. Only the destruction of one left, and the monster itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** So only the last one left. I hope I get it finished and edited till tomorrow. 
> 
> This is not beta'ed, and english is not my first language, so I am sorry for every mistake, typo and odd phrasing.
> 
> First published: 9th of December 2020


	5. It ended with a boy and a monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** I am so sorry that this took a lot longer than I wanted. Writing took longer, editing took longer and yeah - well - life happened. 
> 
> But here, finally the last part of this short fic. And yes, I am in the mood to tackle my other stories again. I don't know how much I manage over christmas, but hey, we are in lockdown here so, there should be time compared to a "normal" year.
> 
> I hope you are all safe. Stay healthy and Merry Christmas. 
> 
> **Have fun reading.**

**It ended with a boy.**

The next weeks went by slowly. Beside Harry, Remus was a constant presence in Grimmauld Place, as were Mr and Mrs Malfoy. Tonks often visited and brought one day her mother with her. Harry left the room as soon as possible when Mrs Tonks and Mrs Malfoy both started to tear up. Mrs Weasley brought food every other day, as if she was afraid, they would starve.

Dumbledore came in at least once a week. But he hardly brought any news Harry hadn’t already read in the daily prophet or Remus and Mr Malfoy discussed over breakfast. Their living together went surprisingly well, and Harry often found himself sitting with Mrs Malfoy down for a cup of tea. She mostly told him stories of Draco as a boy and Harry couldn’t wait to see what face the boy would make, when he told him that he knew he still slept in his favourite pyjamas with cute little dragons on it.

When Draco came back for the summer holidays and Harry asked after his pyjamas the blond went impossible red and sputtered and glared at his mother, but he also tried to hide a small smile. The holidays were surprisingly pleasant with Draco in Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione often visited, as well as the rest of the Weasley family and they brought with them their familiar chaos and Harry loved every second if it. Even when Ron and Hermione nagged him to talk, when all Harry wanted to do was sit quietly in the gardens, treasuring the feeling of the sun in his face.

He knew that they only meant well, but he also realized that he wasn’t the Harry from before. Imprisoned in his own body had changed him. He knew he was quieter than before, prone to stay in his own head and not voice his thoughts and he knew it was difficult for his friends. He understood it, understood that they just wanted to help him, because this small block of ice, which represented his fear and the terror when he thought about the last year, was still there. But the constant nagging and asking how he was feeling made him unsettled, sometimes even angry and it led to him not speaking for hours.

So, he wasn’t even feeling guilty of the small sigh of relief escaping him when September came, and Grimmauld Place was quiet again.

Harry had, with the help of Remus, decided not to go back to Hogwarts. He didn’t like the thought of being a year behind his best friends, couldn’t bear the thought of being starred at and whispered about. Remus and even the Malfoys volunteered to tutor him and once in a week he would floo to Hogwarts and have a practical lesson with Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. They even found an old Potions lab in the basement of Grimmauld Place, where Harry and Remus laughed themselves silly about their attempts on the potions for sixth year. He would need to go to Hogwarts at the end of the school year to sit the exams, but that was okay.

A few weeks into the new school year, a huge package from Neville brought him to tears. It was filled with notes after notes about the Herbology curriculum in sixth year, with lots of pictures of plants taking by Colin Creevey. It took Harry hours till he felt stable enough to send a long thank-you letter to both of them. It was good to know that he wasn’t completely forgotten by his former yearmates.

For a moment Harry missed Hogwarts and with it the chaos and noises of being a student there, but then he tried to imagine himself there now and shuddered.

Life at Grimmauld Place felt safe and peaceful and Harry loved that he had Remus with him all the time and teased him merciless when Tonks visited. He even grew fond of the Malfoys - Mrs Malfoy more than Mr Malfoy - but the later was always available for a game of chess, even if Harry was abysmal at it.

The only thing really happening in Grimmauld Place were the Order meetings, but Harry didn’t even ask to attend. He had the feeling he had done enough, had endured enough. He never ever wanted to see Voldemort again.

That peace that Harry had found, was disturbed when Dumbledore sat down with him and told him the prophecy.

Harry just starred for a moment at the Headmaster and then left the room. He wasn’t sure what he should think, wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

Why him?

Why was it always him? Just… _why_?

Harry found himself in the gardens and sat down on a bench, facing the crater from the destruction of the Horcruxes. He didn’t know how long he sat there.

He thought about his parents and if he had known a year ago what he knew now that he would have given himself the fault for their death. But it wasn’t his fault that Voldemort had believed in the prophecy. It wasn’t the Death Eater’s fault who had overheard it and told Voldemort. It wasn’t Trelawney’s fault, who had spoken the prophecy. It simply was what it was.

He thought about Sirius and what he would think about the prophecy and Harry’s role in the war. Would he be disappointed if Harry didn’t jump into action, still didn’t think that it was his job to end it?

Yes, there was a prophecy about a boy who could vanquish Voldemort. And Dumbledore believed Harry to be that boy. Hell, even people not knowing about the prophecy believed that Harry was the one who should do something about Voldemort.

But why should he? He was only sixteen, nearly seventeen. He had completely missed his sixth year in school, he didn’t have even one percent of the experience Voldemort had. He was just a boy, to whom things happened.

He was just a boy who was in the middle of everything, every time.

Did Dumbledore really think _he_ could do something against Voldemort? Yes, he had broken free of the dark wizard’s control. But that hadn’t been a grand gesture of magical strength or whatever was needed.

Or was that the prophecy meant with the power Voldemort didn’t know about? Yes, Harry had used the fact that Voldemort didn’t understand emotions which were linked to love. And the way Dumbledore had looked when he had told that part, made Harry believe that the Headmaster also thought love was the power the Dark Lord didn’t know about.

But how could he fight with love?

Yes, it was a powerful emotion and despite his childhood Harry seemed to have the ability to love deeply. But how could he use it? He didn’t know.

And the Horcruxes? As long as Voldemort had at least one, he couldn’t die. And Harry had been one of them.

How could he fight Voldemort, if he was one of the things making him unable to die? Or had Dumbledore simply thought Harry would die in one of the fights with Voldemort?

Was that what the prophecy meant?

Harry didn’t think so. It spoke of the boy vanquishing the Dark Lord. Dying, so that Voldemort could be destroyed was not actively vanquishing. Dying by stepping before Voldemort to be killed by his own hands, was passive.

Had Dumbledore planned for him to do that? Simply walk up to Voldemort and let himself be killed? He would have done it. Harry was sure of it.

He would have walked to his own death.

What was one life weighed against the whole magical population of Britain. His life wasn’t worth more than theirs. It wasn’t worth less, but also not more. So, he would have done it. He would have hated Dumbledore for asking it of him, but he would have done it.

At one point the sun had gone down and someone sat beside him.

It was Remus. Remus, who had lost all of his best friends, and was one of the kindest people Harry knew. Harry leaned against him and let his head rest on Remus shoulder.

They sat for a while, quiet, just feeling the moment.

“Albus told be about the prophecy.” Remus spoke softly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the mild evening. Harry only hummed in acknowledgement.

“He also told me his interpretation, and what he believed to be your role. I told him what I thought of it. Utterly bollocks all of it.”

Harry lifted his head and looked at Remus, who grimaced shortly.

“Yes, Harry, I don’t agree with Dumbledore and I don’t believe in prophecies. They are too fickle, too open for any interpretation you want them to be. It is stupid to put all our faith into it. And I definitely will not stand by and let Dumbledore push you into whatever he thinks you should do. You did enough, you endured enough. You are just a boy, not some hero, or villain slayer or the second Merlin. Nor are you a sacrificial lamb or a weapon. You sole purpose doesn’t revolve around Voldemort and a prophecy doesn’t define what and who you are.”

Remus thumb brushed his cheek gently, his face was soft, but his eyes were intense. This was the man who was his honorary uncle, who had given him the Marauder’s map. This was the man who gave him chocolate, who helped him master the Patronus charm. This was the man who told him about his parents, who loved them as Harry loved them. This was the man who took Snape’s snide remarks and only smiled, forgiving him even after losing his job because of him.

But this was also the man who went undercover into the werewolf camps. Who had come to his rescue in the Ministry and came out of the fight unscathed. Who had experienced prejudice and fought against the beast in himself his whole life. This was the man who would have killed to avenge the death of Harry’s parents. This was the man who, despite his kind, peaceful and compassionate nature had fought in the last war, was fighting in this and had been part of the Marauders.

“You are just a boy, Harry. You are just Harry, and that is more than enough.”

And Harry believed him.

* * *

**It ended with a monster.**

In the end it wasn’t Harry who defeated Voldemort. It wasn’t even Dumbledore, no it was Snape, who dealt the last blow, who cast the curse and killed the monster once and for all.

Harry had just sat his last exam with the sixth-year students and knew his friends were waiting for him outside. The seventh years had their exams a week earlier and now were waiting for their results and the graduation ceremony.

It was a beautiful sunny day, with a light breeze, warm but not hot. Harry could see Ron and Hermione together with Neville, some Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and even some Slytherins sitting near the lake. Draco’s white-blond head was unmistakable, as well as the dark bob of Pansy Parkinson. The rest, Harry wasn’t sure. It was now nearly two years that he had seen these people the last time. He had been in contact with Neville via post and he had seen Ron and Hermione regularly over the last year, but the rest of them...

Standing in the shadow of the doorway, Harry was reluctant to join them. They looked like normal teenager, laughing, joking, making plans for their future.

He didn’t feel like he was a part of that. Didn’t feel like he _could_ be part of this.

Sometimes he didn’t speak for hours, sometimes he was afraid to go asleep because of the nightmares still haunting him. Often, he jumped at loud noises and startled when people touched him.

What would these people, who only knew the Harry from before, think of that? Most of them teenager with their typical teenage sorrows. Yes, some of them had traumatic experiences themselves, they were still in a war. But Dumbledore had prevented that Hogwarts was in the centre of it.

It seemed he still had a few spies left, so he was informed about every step Voldemort wanted to make against the school or Dumbledore himself. With the Malfoys on their side, even if they had to hide most of the time in Grimmauld Place, and the aftermath of Harry’s rescue a year ago, which led to a lot of Death Eaters disappearing or coming to Dumbledore seeking shelter, Voldemort was not in a good place to move against them.

It seemed even monsters knew when to back down.

Harry observed the scene before him for a few minutes, before braving himself and step out into the sunshine, when movements from the gates caught his eyes. People were streaming into the grounds of Hogwarts, Rosmerta and a man who looked eerily like Dumbledore, a strange unkept Dumbledore without his colourful robes, at the front.

“Students, please move back into the castle and assemble in the Great Hall.” Dumbledore’s voice rang over the grounds and Harry saw McGonagall greet the newcomers. He turned around and followed the streams of students into the Great Hall. Several Order members were already present, and Harry saw Remus and the Malfoys slip into the hall shortly before Dumbledore addressed everyone.

Apparently, Voldemort had gathered his whole army of Death Eaters, giants, werewolves and whoever and whatever was on his side, had invaded Hogsmeade and was now on his way to Hogwarts. All the students would be evacuated through the floo. That lead to an outcry from several people, mostly from the ones who had been part of Dumbledore’s Army in Harry’s fifth year and the teacher unwillingly conceded that they couldn’t force students of age to vacate the school.

Harry stood at the back of the hall and tried to decide what to do. Should he stay and fight? Remus had said it would be enough to be just _Harry_ , not the child of the prophecy and he shouldn’t feel obligated to fight. But then, if he was just Harry, didn’t that meant that he _should_ fight? If he looked around and saw who was staying, who was willing to fight, it made him want to stay.

All of his yearmates, some of the sixth years in Gryffindor, most of Ravenclaw’s and Hufflepuff’s seventh years, and even some Slytherins, stayed where they were.

It loosened something in Harry, if these students were willing to fight, without a prophecy over their head, some who had reasons, like Neville, some who feared for their future, like the Muggleborns and the Slytherins, and some who simply thought it was the right thing to do, then Harry, even _just_ Harry was allowed to want to fight.

But, as he watched Neville grip his wand a little tighter despite shaking, and Seamus’ freckles stand out in sharp contrast of his white face and latching unto Dean’s hand to steady himself, he was also allowed to be afraid and perhaps – with what he had experienced – a little traumatised, too.

The fear which he never had shaken completely, which had led to nightmares and sleepless nights and flinching at loud noises, melted a little more. Gripping his wand, Harry walked to the Gryffindor table and sat between Ron and Hermione, which both gave him a fierce glance and then squeezed his hand while concentrating on Dumbledore.

When the Headmaster saw him, his eyes shone for a moment with pride and he nodded. Harry nodded back. 

They both knew that Voldemort would concentrate on them. He hated them both too much, they had stopped his plans too many times, stood between him and his goals too many times, had defied him too often to count by now. They had destroyed his Horcruxes and they were sure he realized that, especially after the link between him and Harry had been completely cut. The only one left was Nagini. Somehow, they had to get to her today. They couldn’t slay the monster without taking the snake out, too.

He found himself with his best friends, and several Order members, Remus and Dumbledore himself standing in the courtyard, as a strange welcome committee for Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

The first glance of the monster with his huge snake at his side, the monster who had stolen a year of his life, who had killed his parents and so many other people, who was responsible for his awful childhood and nearly everything bad that had happened to Harry, who had turned himself into something hideous by splitting his soul, made him take a sharp breath.

He was exactly as he remembered him. For a moment, Harry froze.

And then the image of Voldemort, as he had looked the last time Harry had seen him, slumped over in his throne like chair as if he was stoned, made him snort.

The rest of the fear in him melted away. Why should he fear this monster? He had already done everything to Harry, despite killing him. And Harry wasn’t afraid of dying. Dying was easy.

Then Voldemort lifted his wand and moved it in short but complicated pattern and the wards around Hogwarts fell. The moment the wards were destroyed, the Death Eater charged forward, and chaos erupted.

Later Harry couldn’t say what exactly happened at the battle of Hogwarts. Everything was a blur of movements, flying curses, screaming, more curses, running and ducking, defending and attacking. Harry registered Remus going down after being hit with a curse, he didn’t even see who had cast it, but he hoped – fervently hoped – that Remus wasn’t dead.

He saw Fred and George fighting back-to-back, throwing what seems a series of their products at the enemy, he wasn’t even sure if they could be called joke products anymore, if the glimpses he got from the people affected by them, were an indication. He saw Moody going down after being hit with three curses of different colour. Hopefully the old Auror was still breathing. Harry didn’t – couldn’t – think of the people dying in their side.

At some point he lost Ron and Hermione. One moment there were at his side, the other he was alone.

Harry quelled the upcoming panic, believing that his friends were more than capable, and concentrated on keeping Voldemort in his view.

He and Dumbledore had walked up to each other at the beginning and were now engaging in throwing whatever they could at each other. The area where their battle took place was clear of everyone else and compared to the battle in the Ministry two years ago, _that_ had looked like child’s play.

This was fierce, and nothing of the normally so peaceful and benevolent Headmaster was recognizable in Dumbledore. _This_ was the Dumbledore who had fought against Grindelwald, _this_ was the Dumbledore, Voldemort was afraid of. _This_ was one of the most powerful wizards since Merlin and the founders.

The air smelled of ozon and smoke and sizzled with heat around them.

It looked like they were evenly matched, but Harry could see that the fact that the body Voldemort had constructed only a few years ago, which was so much younger and stronger than Dumbledore’s, was an advantage. Harry took out three Death Eaters standing in his way and slipped through the legs of a giant to get there in time.

So, the moment Dumbledore needed a second to breath, Harry jumped between the two wizards and blocked a curse from Voldemort.

This was the first time the two of them stood face to face since Harry had escaped. Harry just stared into the blood red eyes of the monster before him, who looked first shocked and then snarled.

“You should have kept it.” The voice hunting his nightmares hissed at him. “You should have just accepted that you were _mine_ and you shouldn’t have destroyed it. You will pay for it.” The anger, the unhinged rage was visible in those inhuman features.

Harry ducked to avoid the curse flying at him and then him and Dumbledore started pushing Voldemort back. They kept him busy, hoping that somebody would take out Nagini, hoping that keeping Voldemort out of the actual battle was enough for the people to overpower the Death Eaters.

Harry didn’t know how long they actually fought, at one point his muscle began to burn from exhaustion and his voice grew horse from yelling curses after his concentration had been too sloppy for doing non-verbal casting. But Voldemort looked the as exhausted as both of them and Harry registered in grim satisfaction the growing fear in the wizard.

An uproar left from them, startled all three of them.

Neville stood not even five feet away from them, the sword of Gryffindor in his hands and the twitching body of Nagini before him, her head rolling a few steps away from him. Voldemort’s face was contorted in fury, but Harry saw the fear of death in his eyes.

The monster lifted his wand, completely forgetting about Harry and Dumbledore, and pointed it at Neville.

“Avada-”

“Sectumsempra.” A cold, familiar voice interrupted.

Instantly blood spread from the deep cuts around Voldemort’s neck. He looked behind him, his eyes went wide at the sight of his attacker. But whatever he wanted to say came only out as a gurgle, before he choked on his own blood. There was so much blood, it ran down his body, soaking his robes and then – Voldemort – the darkest wizards of their time - the monster fell down, face first into the dirt and lay still.

Snape stood behind him, his wand still lifted. His face hard, but his eyes shone - in what Harry could only interpret as - vengeful satisfaction.

Silence fell over the grounds of Hogwarts, everyone frozen by the sight of this monster of a wizard laying there in his own blood, in the dirt, dead.

The cheering nearly nocked Harry flat on the ground, too.

It was over.

And Harry… he felt like he could breathe for the first time in forever.

He knew not everything would be instantly better. There was still so much to do in the wizarding world, there was so much he wanted to do, so much life to live. And finally, he had the feeling he could. He didn’t know how many they lost; how many were wounded. There would be families grieving today, in between the overall cheering.

But it was over.

A hand settled on his shoulder. Remus was standing there, bloody and on the verge of collapsing, but he was alive. And there where Ron and Hermione, hand in hand, walking towards him, and George keeping his twin upright, and more and more people helped the wounded stand up if they could. There was Draco hugging his parents and Bill kissing Fleur, and Mrs and Mrs Weasley hugging.

Harry hugged Remus tight, who – despite his grunt of pain – returned the hug. All was well for now. For this moment what counted was, that finally he could be only a boy, just Harry.

For this moment it was enough that the monster was dead.

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** So, yes, that's the end. Thanks for reading.
> 
> This was only meant as a writing exercise but it grew larger than I thought in the beginning. Perhaps some day I come back and polish it up, but for now I am satisfied with it.
> 
> This is not beta'ed, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> First published: 18th of December 2020


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